


Secret Ingredient

by ominousunflower



Series: Holiday Kiss [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Holidays, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower
Summary: Luka is pretty sure France doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving, but he's not about to turn down a cute superhero who brought free food.“It’s Thanksgiving!” Chat says.Luka squints at Chat for a few seconds, his brain struggling to form a coherent word out of the sounds Chat just made. Then he recognizes it. “Wait. France doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”“Yes, and that’s a crime,” Chat says, “because apparently it’s an excellent excuse to gorge on delicious food.”
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Luka Couffaine
Series: Holiday Kiss [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556269
Comments: 20
Kudos: 349
Collections: lukadrienforthesuperheroes





	Secret Ingredient

**Author's Note:**

> My friend told me that there is nothing romantic about Thanksgiving. They are probably right…but Chat is not so easily convinced. 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who are celebrating! And for those of you who aren't, have a nice Thursday :)

On a chilly Thursday in November, Luka Couffaine sits on his bed and composes yet another song about green eyes and soft lips. Despite the cold outside, his porthole window is cracked open—because every time he plays one of these songs, he stupidly hopes that a certain superhero will come by and overhear them.

The songs don’t have any words, of course. No one listening to them would know exactly what they’re about. But Luka knows. It’s been four weeks, and he still can’t get his Halloween encounter with Chat Noir out of his head.

He’d _kissed_ him. And while it wasn’t the first time that Luka had kissed someone, it was the first time he’d kissed a guy—a guy who could be Adrien Agreste, or a complete stranger who Luka’s never met.

Luka usually wouldn’t be bothered by that sort of thing, but romance is hard enough for him without throwing secret identities into the mix. Say Adrien _is_ Chat Noir: is Luka supposed to flirt with him on both sides of the mask? If he only flirts with one of them, then Adrien will probably worry that Luka doesn’t like both sides of him. Then again, if Luka flirts with both of them, Adrien might think that Luka’s being insincere and doesn’t really like him. And of course, if Adrien _isn’t_ Chat Noir, then Luka would monumentally screw up by flirting with both of them.

At that thought, Luka’s fingers slip, and his perfect fourth ends up being a tritone. The interval twangs unhappily in the air. _Lovely._

“Is the song supposed to go like that?” a voice asks.

Luka jumps, turning to the window. He almost can’t believe his eyes. “Chat Noir!”

As if Luka’s thoughts have summoned him, Chat is there, his head poking through the window, his claws clinging to the sill. He must be hanging off the side of the boat.

“Sorry,” Chat says, ducking so that only his green eyes peek over the window sill. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Luka says, setting down his guitar. He tries to ignore the slight disappointment he feels—of course the one time Chat heard Luka’s song, Luka had to play it incorrectly. “Do you want to come in?”

“I do, but…I didn’t think this through.” Chat lifts one of his hands slightly, showing a handle draped over it. “I don’t know if my bag will fit through the window.”

Luka raises an eyebrow. “Are you paying me back for all the candy you stole on Halloween?”

Chat fakes a gasp. “I didn’t steal it! You gave it to me!”

 _You also gave him a kiss,_ Luka’s mind reminds him. He shushes it. “You can go above deck and use the stairs to get down here. You just missed maman and Juleka.”

“How fortunate,” Chat says, but Luka wonders if Chat planned that. “I’ll be right back, then.”

He clambers up the side of the boat, giving Luka a glimpse of an insulated grocery bag. It doesn’t look like the sort of thing that would be holding candy. 

Sighing, Luka wanders into the living room to meet Chat. A few seconds later, Chat hops down the stairs, swinging his bag at his side. 

“I’m back!” Chat says. “Now, guess what today is.”

Luka’s brain is moving slower than usual, trying to figure out the reason behind Chat’s visit. “Thursday?”

Chat snorts. “You’re not wrong. But I was thinking something a little more specific.”

Luka glances at the bag. It probably holds a few answers. “What’s in the bag?”

“Pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce,” Chat says. “Now make another guess.”

After a moment of trying and failing to think of something, Luka laughs. “Sorry, Chat. I have no idea,” he says. “National Pie Day?”

“Close,” Chat says. “It’s Thanksgiving!”

Luka squints at Chat for a few seconds, his brain struggling to form a coherent word out of the sounds Chat just made. Then he recognizes it. “Wait. France doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Yes, and that’s a crime,” Chat says, “because apparently it’s an excellent excuse to gorge on delicious food.”

“Is that what you’ve brought?” Luka says, unable to keep an amused smile off his face. “Delicious food?”

“Well.” Chat hugs the bag to his chest, his ears flattening slightly. “I—maybe?” He laughs and holds the bag behind his back. “On second thought, it might be better if we just go to a bakery and buy a pie.”

“Did you make it?” Luka asks, surprised.

He’s not necessarily shocked that Chat managed to bake something—although really, since Chat wields the power of destruction, Luka wouldn’t be surprised if Chat ends up causing chaos in the kitchen. No, what surprises him is the fact that Chat might have bothered to bake a pie for a holiday that their country doesn’t even celebrate.

“Well,” Chat says. “That depends if it’s good?”

Luka smiles. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. If you did, I’m impressed.”

“Right, ah—yes,” Chat says. “Marinette taught me, actually. She helped me bake one pie for practice, and then I made this one by myself. Or, well, almost by myself. She still helped with the crust, and supervised me to make sure I didn’t ruin it. But I made the filling and baked it by myself!” He grimaces. “I don’t have much experience in the kitchen, so I was worried I’d mess up…but I think it turned out alright.”

Many weeks ago, when Luka was a different man, he would have said that a pastry baked by Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the sweetest thing on earth. Now, he realizes that’s only because he never contemplated a pastry baked by Chat Noir.

“You baked me a pie?” Luka says stupidly.

“Yes,” Chat says. “Well, I—I mean, I baked it for us. Uh. For Thanksgiving. I baked Thanksgiving a pie.” He squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks turning pink. “I guess I baked you a pie, yes.”

Chat baked a pie for him. Is he…is he _wooing_ Luka? From everything about love and romance that Luka’s learned over the years, he doesn’t remember pies being a standard part of the courtship process. Then again, nothing about this is standard. He feels like the pie probably counts for something.

“I’m flattered,” Luka says. “But going off experience…I’m guessing you want something _sweet_ in return?”

“No!” Chat says, his cheeks now bright red. “No, the pie is free.” He opens the bag and digs around until he finds something, then pulls it out. It looks like a V-shaped bone. “I also have this.”

“A fake bone?”

“A fake _wishbone._ But that’s for later.”

Luka decides to play along. He’s sure Chat has some sort of scheme up his sleeve—it’s Chat, after all—but he’ll worry about that when the time comes.

Chat sets the bag on the kitchen counter and glances back toward Luka’s bedroom. “So, that song I interrupted earlier—is that a new one you’re working on?”

“Yeah,” Luka says. “And to answer your question from earlier, no, that tritone wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Well, they say it’s the devil’s interval,” Chat says, leaning against the counter. “Your magic guitar hands must’ve sensed the power of destruction coming.”

Luka laughs. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Can I hear it?” Chat says. “Unless you don’t want me to. I’m curious, is all. I’m quite the fan of yours.”

“You are?”

Chat nods. “I’ve heard Kitty Section play a few times. I admit, I initially became curious because of the name…” He smirks. “Are you a fan of cats, Luka?”

“Certain ones,” Luka says. “Hold on. I’ll go get my guitar.”

He retrieves his guitar from his bedroom and hops onto one of the kitchen stools. Even though the guitar is already tuned, he spends a minute fiddling with the pegs and playing intervals, aware that Chat’s eyes are glued to his every movement.

Luka’s not sure why he’s suddenly so shy. He almost never gets stage fright when it comes to playing guitar. He grew up knowing that music doesn’t have to be perfect—in fact, that music is _never_ perfect (although a case could probably be made for Bohemian Rhapsody). So, he’s not worried about making a mistake. And yet, he finds himself delaying the song.

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. “Okay. I’m still working on it, so it’s only partly finished. But here’s what I have so far.”

Once Luka starts playing, he forgets that he has an audience; he becomes absorbed in the song, fingers finding their way across notes and chords with ease. It starts out idyllic, sweet—reminiscent of a Renaissance song for the lute. Occasionally, the tune turns darker and heavier, minor chords and low growls from the bassline. That’s Luka’s love life before this confusion with Chat: frustrating, sweet but painful, with Marinette constantly pulling him closer and pushing him away.

Then Chat enters, and the song becomes chaotic. It’s mischievous, odd leaps and intervals, yanking Luka around in an entirely different way. Unlike Marinette, Chat is consistent; but Luka can’t tell if he’s sincere or just a flirt, and so the song is a mess of grace notes and slides, never resting too long on a single note or chord.

The song stops abruptly when Luka gets to the unfinished section. He lowers the guitar and blinks, coming out of his daze. “I haven’t written the rest yet,” he tells Chat.

“It sounds amazing,” Chat says. “Is it about something, or…?”

Luka smiles. “Every song is about something, Chat.”

“Is it about…some _one?”_

“Maybe,” Luka says, holding Chat’s gaze.

Chat stiffens, eyes wide. “R-right! So, food. Do you have plates and utensils? I forgot to bring those.”

“Sure,” Luka says. He’s relieved to have something else to focus on. “What do you need?”

“Plates, forks, and cups,” Chat says. “And a knife or something.”

Luka opens a cupboard and pulls out the dinnerware Chat requested. He grabs most of the things at random, though he specifically picks out a green plate for Chat—for his eyes, of course.

His very bright, very pretty eyes. Luka fights back a blush. He wishes his brain would stop getting hung up on those eyes.

“Hm,” Chat says, as Luka sets the plates and cups on the counter. “Is there a reason none of this matches?”

“Have you met my mother?” Luka says. “Uniformity is a sin around here.”

“Ah, that explains the décor.”

Luka shrugs. “She likes the lived-in look.”

“I kind of like it, too,” Chat says. He pulls out a bottle of apple cider and places it on the counter. “It’s definitely cozier than my house.”

“What’s your house like?” Luka asks, twisting off the cap and pouring two glasses of cider.

Chat frowns as he places a covered pie plate and can of cranberry sauce next to the cups of cider. “Minimalist. Big and empty.” He sighs. “If I’m being honest, it doesn’t feel like anyone lives there.”

Well, that definitely sounds like Adrien’s house. Luka remembers being there once and thinking it looked more like an office or museum than a home. “That’s too bad.”

“It’s fine,” Chat says, though his brow is furrowed. “I try to get out as often as I can.” He wiggles the finger wearing his Miraculous. “My ring helps with that.”

Luka tries not to scowl. “You need your Miraculous to get out of the house? You can’t just leave?”

Chat winces. “Well…no. Like I said last time, my father is strict. He doesn’t usually give me permission to go out and have fun.”

“That’s not fair,” Luka says, and once again, he can’t help but think of Adrien. “You’re a teenager, not some exotic pet that needs to be locked up.”

Chat stares at Luka, eyes wide. “Oh,” he says. “I, uh—are you angry?”

Luka huffs. “Not at you. At your father.”

“Mm.” Chat delicately lifts the lid off his pie plate. “It’s fine. But you know…” He glances up, eyes glimmering with mischief. “Technically, I am a rare pet. A cat my size, who can talk and use magic…” He leans across the counter toward Luka, abandoning the pie. “You don’t see those every day.”

Willing himself not to blush, Luka leans forward as well. “No, I don’t,” he says. “So maybe you need to come by more often.”

Chat’s mouth stretches into a grin. “Maybe I do.”

They stare at each other for a moment, as if they’re both waiting for something. Luka wonders if Chat is going to kiss him again. While he’s not sure how he feels about that, maybe it would be easier to finish his song if he got another taste of those lips.

Clearing his throat, Chat leans back and grabs the knife Luka’s laid out. “Okay,” he says, turning to the pie. “How big of a piece do you want?”

Luka’s eyes go to the pie. It looks surprisingly normal: lightly browned crust, orange filling that’s darker around the edges. “You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever had pumpkin pie before.”

“Me neither,” Chat says. “That is, until the first pie Marinette and I made. So I guess this is my second time having it.”

The mention of Marinette doesn’t necessarily make Luka jealous—but it reminds him that he’s not the only civilian Chat is visiting. Does that mean this thing between them is casual? Or does Chat treat him differently than other civilians?

Not for the first time, he wishes that Chat wasn’t so hard to read. Even with all of Luka’s empathic skills, he can’t always tell what the superhero is thinking.

“Luka?” Chat says.

“Oh,” Luka says. “Sorry. An eighth, I guess.”

For some reason, that makes Chat smile. “Fractions! See, this is why you’re my favorite. You understand me.” Cutting the pie, Chat adds, “Marinette kept making triangles with her hand and saying things like _two forks wide._ ” Chat looks up at Luka, forehead creased. “What does that even _mean?”_

“As wide as two forks?”

“Yes, but where?” Chat says. One hand on his hip, he wags the knife at Luka. “At the base of the slice? The middle? And salad fork, or dinner fork?” He shakes his head and scoops Luka’s slice onto a plate. “That’s far too imprecise for me.”

Luka laughs. It’s cute that Chat is so distressed about pie proportions. “It doesn’t have to be exact,” Luka says. “It will taste the same no matter what.”

“True,” Chat says, “but I don’t want to shortchange you.” He turns to the can of cranberry sauce and pulls back the tab, peeling open the lid. “Do you like cranberry sauce? I had to search an international store for this kind, so I don’t know how good it is.”

“I’m not sure,” Luka says. “Are we supposed to put it on something?”

Chat pauses, tongue sticking out slightly. “Uh. I’m not sure. I thought we could just eat it on its own?”

“I’m sure we can,” Luka says. “But I’m also pretty sure you’re supposed to eat it on the turkey.”

“Sorry,” Chat says. “As much as I like you, I wasn’t going to cook an entire turkey for Thanksgiving.”

“Hm,” Luka says. “Isn’t that the main course in America, though? I’m questioning how committed you are to this holiday, Chat.”

Chat gapes at him. “I baked a _pie_ for you! Do you know how many things I’ve baked in my life?” He holds up a hand before Luka can respond. “None. Consider yourself special, monsieur. Before I baked this pie, I’d never touched an oven before.”

Luka’s speechless for a moment. Chat has never used an oven before? And he went to that trouble for _him?_ Luka’s a bit mystified. He can’t imagine what made Chat think he was worth baking a pie for.

“I appreciate it, Chat,” Luka says. “Really. No one’s ever baked me a pie before.”

“W-well,” Chat says, his cheeks pink. “I did.”

“You did,” Luka says smiling.

“I did,” Chat says again. He shakes his head. “I—um, I said that already.”

Blushing, Chat spoons some cranberry sauce onto Luka’s plate and his, then serves himself a slightly smaller slice of pie. Luka wonders if that’s an etiquette thing.

Then Chat brings his plate around the counter and climbs onto the stool next to Luka’s. “Now,” he says. “Before we eat, we have to say what we’re thankful for.”

“Is that part of the tradition?” Luka asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know!” Chat says. “But it’s right there in the name.”

Luka laughs. “Alright.” He turns to face Chat, knees brushing his. “I’ll go first. Let me see…first, I’m thankful for this pie.” Chat laughs, and Luka finds himself joining in. “And I’m thankful for my friends,” Luka says. “Including you, Chat. I’m glad we’re part of each other’s lives.”

And it’s true. As strange and unpredictable as their dynamic is, Luka welcomes it.

Chat blinks, pupils so large that there’s hardly any green in his eyes. “I—uh—me too,” he says, smiling shyly. “I’m grateful for you, Luka. And my other friends!” He turns to his plate, and from what Luka can see, Chat is blushing again. “But especially you.”

Luka smiles at Chat. “I’m glad.”

Chat glances over, still uncharacteristically bashful. “Same.”

“So…” Luka turns to the plate in front of him. “I can eat my pie now?”

“Wait!” Chat says. “Let me try it first, to make sure it’s not horrible.”

“Too slow,” Luka says, taking a bite. The pie is sweet and light, the crust firm and buttery. “Chat, what are you worried about? This is really good.”

He looks over at Chat to find him cowering behind his hands, peeking out between his fingers. “It is?”

“Try it and see,” Luka says.

“I don’t know,” Chat says, slowly lowering his hands. “If I don’t eat it, I won’t know if you’re lying or not.”

Sighing, Luka puts down his fork and picks up Chat’s. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says, scooping pie onto the fork. He holds it up for Chat to take. “Try it?”

Chat’s eyes cross to focus on the fork in front of his nose. “You wouldn’t lie?” he says. “If it was bad, you’d really tell me that?”

Luka hesitates. “Well…maybe not.” Usually, he’s honest to a fault—but if it made Chat smile, he’d probably lie. He couldn’t bear to see him upset. “But it really is good, Chat.”

Delicately, Chat leans forward and bites the piece of pie off the fork. He chews for a moment, and then his eyes light up. “Oh! You’re right. I didn’t ruin it.”

“Do I have to feed you the rest?” Luka asks, trying not to laugh.

“Mince alors!” Chat says. “N-no. I know how to use a fork.” He hastily snatches the fork from Luka’s hand and turns back to his pie.

“Are you sure?” Luka says. He nudges Chat’s shoulder. “If I have to feed you, I can.”

Chat scowls. “Now you’re _trying_ to make me blush.”

“I’d say I’m succeeding,” Luka says, pointing to Chat’s cheek. “Unless you’re wearing blush.”

“Not at the moment,” Chat mumbles. He shoves another piece of pie in his mouth. “Eat your pie, Couffaine.”

Chat sometimes wears makeup, then. _Adrien Agreste,_ Luka’s mind whispers. He takes another bite of pie to distract himself. “Mm. I meant what I said, Chat. This is delicious.”

“Ah, well.” Chat smirks. “That must be the secret ingredient Marinette told me to use.”

“And what’s that?” 

Chat leans a little closer. “L’amour, obviously.”

“Love?” Luka repeats.

Chat blinks, and his eyes widen. “N-no! Uh.” He fumbles with his fork. “I mean. L’amaretto?”

Luka squints at him. “You put liqueur in the pie?”

“No!” Chat says. “Pumpkin.”

“The secret ingredient in your pumpkin pie is…pumpkin?”

“I lied,” Chat says, his entire face the brightest red Luka’s ever seen. “There’s no secret ingredient.”

“You didn’t lie about the pumpkin, though, did you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Laughing, Luka shakes his head and goes back to eating his pie. Once he and Chat have finished their pie and scraped the last bit of cranberry sauce from their plates—or, in Chat’s case, licked it off—Chat retrieves the fake wishbone from his bag.

“Now for the grand finale,” he says, winking.

“What are we going to do with a fake bone?” Luka asks.

“Break it,” Chat says. “We both hold one side of it while making a wish, and then we snap it between the two of us. Whoever gets the longer piece, their wish comes true.”

Luka scrutinizes the fake wishbone. “Is that really a thing?”

“Yes!” Chat says, sounding offended. “I think some people in France do it when they eat turkey, too. But I didn’t make it up.”

“Okay.” Luka would rather be holding Chat’s hand than a fake bone, but he reaches out and lightly grips one side of the wishbone. “So I just…pull?”

Chat nods. “Yeah.” He shifts in his seat so that he and Luka are facing each other. Their legs press together between the stools, and Luka has the sudden desire to close the distance between them. “I’m ready when you are.”

“One second,” Luka says, collecting his thoughts.

A wish? He’s not sure that he has one. Having a wish would mean that there’s something he wants to change about his life, and Luka has never been the sort of person to dwell on what he doesn’t have.

He glances at Chat, who’s staring at the wishbone with a sparkle in his eye. Luka’s not sure exactly what Chat’s civilian life is like, but it sounds strict, unsupportive, stifling. He wishes that Chat didn’t have to put on a mask to feel free.

Luka decides that will be his wish—that Chat can be free and happy.

“Alright,” Luka says. “On three?”

Chat nods. “One, two...three!”

Luka tugs lightly on the bone. At first, it doesn’t give, so he pulls harder until the bone snaps in two.

Chat grins, holding up the longer piece. “Looks like I win.”

Luka laughs. “Did you look up how to win this?”

“No,” Chat says, but his glimmering eyes say _yes._ “Now, to make my wish. Hm…let’s see…”

All too late, understanding dawns on Luka. “Oh?” he says, feigning calm. “I wonder, what could you _possibly_ have wished for?”

“I can’t say,” Chat says, tapping a finger against his lips. “That’s bad luck, and then my wish won’t come true.”

“Aren’t black cats supposed to bring bad luck?” Luka asks. “Maybe it will cancel out.”

“Non!” Chat says. “I’m not risking it.” He sets the bone down, and one of his hands snakes out to grip Luka’s arm. Leaning forward, he says, “I’ll just have to hope that maybe, possibly…” He pauses, lips centimeters from Luka’s, eyes half-lidded. “…my wish comes true?”

Luka can’t deny that he feels a bit stupid for ignoring the signs. He should have guessed that Chat wasn’t _just_ visiting to celebrate an American holiday. Then again, he’s not sure he could have predicted that a broken bone would lead to a second kiss. It’s a little unconventional.

Ah, but on the Liberty, aren’t things supposed to be unconventional? Luka would be going against his family’s entire philosophy if he refused to kiss Chat right now. And Chat _did_ win the wishbone break. That means his wish has to come true.

Steadying his nerves, Luka sets his half of the bone on the counter. Then he cups Chat’s face in his hands and closes the distance between them.

Chat’s lips are as soft and warm as he remembers. A stray curl of his hair brushes against one of Luka’s hands, and he catches it in his fingers, twirling it as they kiss.

Luka’s wish might not have won, but maybe, for a few seconds, he can make it come true anyway. He wants this kiss to make Chat feel warm and safe. He wants it to show Chat that he’s wanted.

And so he tries to make it last, holding Chat’s face close to his as their lips press together. All too soon, though, he can feel it ending. Their lips part, and they both start to pull away—and then Luka dives back in, kissing Chat a second time.

He’s surprised himself, and he must surprise Chat, too, because he makes a muffled sound against Luka’s lips. But he doesn’t push Luka away. Instead, he grips Luka’s arms and holds his hands in place, continuing the kiss for a few seconds more.

Finally, when Luka knows he can’t prolong the kiss any more without raising some questions, he pulls back.

Chat looks dazed, his eyes slightly unfocused. His grip on Luka’s forearms goes lax, and his mouth moves wordlessly for a few moments. “Uh.”

Luka blinks. “I…wasn’t sure how many kisses you wished for.”

“You taste like pumpkin,” Chat says. Then he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Forget I said that,” he mumbles.

Luka’s cheeks are warm. “Sure.” He doesn’t add what he’s thinking—that Chat tasted like pumpkin, too.

The two of them sit in silence for a minute. Then Chat claps his hands and picks up the knife lying in the pie plate. “Do you want another slice?”

“Yeah,” Luka says. “Thank you, Chat.”

Chat glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “For the pie, or the kiss?”

“For the pumpkin,” Luka says, smiling.

After all, he has a feeling that Chat’s secret ingredient is what made those kisses taste so sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is literally just Chat using holidays as an excuse to kiss Luka, lol. Next up: Christmas!
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  maman – mom  
> l’amour – love  
> amaretto – a sweet liqueur  
> Mince alors! – Oh geez!  
> 


End file.
